


Reunions

by QueenAng



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Other, Reunions, Secret Relationship, Transformer Sparklings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22249447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenAng/pseuds/QueenAng
Summary: Autobot Command plans a reunion in Iacon, Starscream conveniently vanishes, and Wheeljack is left to deal with the chaos.
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl, Starscream/Wheeljack
Comments: 5
Kudos: 145





	Reunions

Wheeljack knew a reunion when he saw one, for all he tried to avoid it.

Unfortunately, Windblade caught wind of it when the Lost Light stopped down on Cybertron and Rodimus wandered into the palace with big talk about ‘getting some of the old gang back together’. Windblade thought it was a wonderful idea. Chromia said nothing.

And Starscream had been missing for the better part of a week now.

Wheeljack went to Rattrap immediately, and the infernal little creature could only offer the suggestion of a closet Starscream had repurposed into a weapons locker. Wheeljack all but dragged him through the compound until they reached the door, and Wheeljack hauled it open.

It was empty. No weapons, no Starscream.

“Huh,” Rattrap muttered. “That’s different.”

So Starscream was hiding somewhere, still communicating just enough to keep Windblade off his tailpipe for shirking work, and what seemed like half of Autobot command was reuniting in New Iacon.

Windblade didn’t see the issue. “He disappears sometimes, doesn’t he?” she said, almost to herself. “He likes his personal space.”

Wheeljack – three days into Starscream’s disappearance and growing more on edge with every passing hour – tried not to let his irritation show in his voice. “Not like this. Not under circumstances like this. You know him, Windblade. Any powerful bot comes to town, he’s sweet-talking them the moment they land. He doesn’t just _vanish_.”

Rodimus didn’t seem to even pick up on Wheeljack’s discomfort, the few times he stopped by. Wheeljack managed to convince Windblade to keep them out of compound, at least. The ‘reunion’ was set for Blurr’s bar instead. Every-bot involved couldn’t wait. Wheeljack couldn’t wait for it to be over, and things to return to normal again.

He fiddled idly with a scanner while Windblade and Rodimus chatted near the door. Things had been going so well. Starscream and Windblade were at each other’s throats less. The Camiens were integrating into Cybertronian society. Rebuilding was progressing faster than expected. And Wheeljack was tantalizingly close to having a conjunx.

Before Starscream just _up and vanished_.

* * *

The night finally arrived.

Blurr’s bar was crowded with familiar faces. Ironhide, Jazz, Optimus, Perceptor. Wheeljack, once inside, easily slipped into patterns of conversation he hadn’t held in stellar cycles. The war as a whole came up sparsely, but enough so that Wheeljack got an understanding of his fellow Autobots’ views.

“It’s a mess, Starscream being in charge. Cybertron would’ve been better off with a NAIL like Metalhawk.”

“Optimus shoulda crushed that stiletto-heeled freak before he even entered the election.”

“He doesn’t have a bit of leading experience. You know he was just Megatron’s whore during the war, right?”

“Has any-bot even seen Starscream since we landed?” the bot now sitting across from Wheeljack queried. “Looks like he scurried off the moment he caught wind that Autobots were headed into town.”

Wheeljack knew it would be useless to protest. Starscream’s paranoia spoke for itself. He could only grip his energon cube and try not to draw attention to himself. The last thing he wanted was to get into a debate. A few more joors, and it would be socially acceptable to go back home to his and Starscream’s _empty_ apartment. This all would become another awkward memory.

Jazz, annoying perceptive as always, said, “Hey, why don’t you go talk to Arcee. She seems lonely over there.”

The grey front-liner who had been berating Starscream cast a glance to the corner where Arcee stood. “Yeah, okay.” And actually did it.

Wheeljack looked at Jazz. “That was mean. She’s gonna kill the kid.”

Jazz slid into the grey bot’s seat across from Wheeljack. “Ah, cheer up a little. Even Arcee’s in a good mood tonight. Everybody is.” He tilted his cube in Wheeljack’s direction. “’Cept you, of course.”

Wheeljack said honestly, “I’m tired of talking about politics.”

“That’s funny, so am I.”

Realizing Jazz wasn’t about to leave any time soon, Wheeljack fished for something to say. “How’ve you been lately? Settled down any?”

Jazz leaned back. “I’ve been good. Taking fewer missions. Prowl’s gotten better now that he’s been away from Cybertron. Optimus has been slowly introducing him back to duty, which he’s happy about. Been thinking about starting a family, once Prowler’s firmly back on his pedes.”

Wheeljack didn’t have to fake his disbelief then. “You and Prowl?”

“Nah, me and Shockwave. What’dya think?”

“Alright, alright. I’m just… surprised.”

Jazz shrugged. “The war’s over. Things have quieted down. Prowl’s different, after Bombshell and Tarantulas. I’m not spending my time sneaking through Decepticon bases anymore. Why not?”

Why not? Wheeljack rested his chin in his servo, as Jazz started an anecdote about some misadventure back on Earth. He and Starscream were so close to becoming conjunxes. Sparklings could follow that. And why not? The war was over. His biggest worries were usually politics and delegates and Metroplex’s health. A sparkling could safely grow up, surrounded by former Autobots and NAILs and Decepticons because it _didn’t matter anymore._ It was _over_. They could live now.

Wheeljack wanted that. He wanted to be conjunxed, and have a stupidly intricate ceremony with outdated rituals, and one day – maybe, hopefully – have sparklings. Preferably ones with cute little wings.

“So, I am curious,” Jazz said, bringing Wheeljack out of his reprieve. “What is it like working for Starscream?”

Wheeljack’s processor spun. He needed to choose his words carefully, because the last thing he wanted was a debate about how terrible Starscream was when he was so close to being able to leave. This was Jazz; he would pick up on a lie. “It’s… different,” Wheeljack said. “Really different than I thought it would be like.”

Jazz hummed. “Good different or bad different?”

“Good,” Wheeljack said. Jazz motioned for him continue. “It’s… uh. It’s not all that bad, working with him. He’s pretty smart. Used to be a scientist, before the war, so he understands what I’m talking about, which is nice.”

“You talk to him often?” Jazz’s voice was neutral.

“Yeah,” Wheeljack said. “I work with him. ‘Course I talk to him often.”

Before Jazz could ask his next interrogatory, a servo clapped down hard on Wheeljack’s shoulder and the smell of engex hit his olfactory sensors. His chair was jostled as Sideswipe came to lean on the table beside him, optics bright with over-charge.

Windblade tried to grab him, but Sideswipe shoved her off. “No, no, I gotta— I gotta ask.”

“Sideswipe—” Windblade started.

“So is it true?” Sideswipe asked. “You— Are you fragging Starscream?”

All Wheeljack could muster was, “What?”

“Starscream,” Sideswipe echoed. “Every-bot’s saying you’ve shacked up with him for the long run, which would be pretty fragging hard to believe, considering he killed a good number of your friends and all.”

The bar directly around them had grown considerably quieter.

Jazz started to stand up. “Hey, Sideswipe, maybe you oughta—”

“No!” Sideswipe snapped. “Starscream’s a murderous, back-stabbing glitch. He offlined how many of our bots? He spent all his time not on the battlefield, mowing down our friends, being Megatron’s glorified frag-toy—”

And, yeah, Wheeljack shouldn’t have pushed him over, but Sideswipe also shouldn’t have come back up swinging at him. The next few moments were a blur, right up until a large blue-and-red form stepped between them and a servo wrapped around Sideswipe’s arm and held him back.

“What is going on here?” Optimus Prime asked.

They both spoke at the same time.

“Wheeljack’s taken up with—”

“He insulted my conjunx-to-be.”

Optimus looked down at Sideswipe, who hadn’t removed his glare from Wheeljack. “Is this true, Sideswipe?”

“Yeah,” he spat. “Guess it is.”

Optimus made a motion with his free servo. “Ironhide, please escort our friend outside. I believe he’s had a bit too much engex tonight.”

Sideswipe didn’t stop glaring at Wheeljack until Ironhide had hauled him out of sight. The chatter had gradually picked back up again following Optimus’s disbanding of the fight, and luckily few seemed to have heard the specifics of what had started it. Wheeljack didn’t doubt, however, that by tomorrow the whole of Autobot command would know what happened tonight.

* * *

Wheeljack was honestly surprised when he came home from his lab the next day to find Starscream sprawled on their berth, red plating shining brilliantly in the fading sunlight cast in from the large open window. Apparently going into hiding hadn’t ruined his care regime, because he was still as breathtakingly beautiful as ever.

“You’ll never believe it,” Starscream said, “but I heard the funniest rumor from our departing Autobot guests.”

Wheeljack was glad for the mask that hid his expressions. “Oh?”

“Yes. Apparently there was nearly a brawl in Blurr’s last night because some front-liner deigned to insult me, but luckily some dashing mech stepped in to defend my honor. He proclaimed himself my conjunx-to-be. It’s all quite romantic.” Starscream glanced over at him. “Of course, all my information is second-hand. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Wheeljack’s shoulders drooped. “I was planning on asking you before they showed up.”

“I would have said yes.”

“I wanted to be romantic.”

“Oh, I think what you did was very romantic.”

Wheeljack crossed the room to stand over their berth. “I really was going to ask you. I had been trying to devise some romantic plan that you would like but wouldn’t backfire on us when Rodimus showed up and it all got derailed. Then Sideswipe came over last night and it just… came out.”

“I supposed we’ll have to have a particularly grand Conjunxing ceremony to make up for missing out on the proposal.”

Wheeljack felt as though a weight had been lifted from his spark. Starscream wasn’t mad; he was agreeing. He said _yes_. “It’ll be the biggest party on Cybertron. I’ll make fireworks.”

“Of course you would offer to bring explosions to a wedding.”

He pushed Starscream’s legs to the side and sat on the berth beside him. _Their_ berth, in _their_ apartment, where they were planning _their_ _conjunx_ _ceremony_. Wheeljack almost couldn’t believe it. A few million years of war had him convinced he wouldn’t live to see a happy ending, let alone alongside a former Decepticon. _The_ former Decepticon second-in-command.

Almost absentmindedly, Wheeljack murmured, “Jazz and Prowl are trying for a sparkling.”

Starscream huffed. “It better be a damn good party if that’s what you’re wanting.”

Wheeljack said, “I couldn’t think of any better thing to celebrate.”

Starscream looked away, but not before Wheeljack caught sight of the faint energon rising in his cheeks. He said something quietly and quickly, but it was lost in a muffle against the berth pillows.

“Star, you know I love your evil muttering, but I didn’t quite catch that.”

Starscream looked back up at him. “I have… contacts aboard Optimus’s ship, among his crew,” he began slowly.

“You have spies in Optimus’s crew,” Wheeljack amended.

“Semantics. Anyway. They aren’t _trying_.”

“What?”

“Jazz and Prowl. They aren’t trying for a sparkling.”

“Jazz just told me last night—”

“Prowl received a positive spark test this morning.” Starscream inspected a claw nonchalantly. “He’s about two deca-cycles along.”

Wheeljack felt his face-plates split into a grin so wide he couldn’t help but retract his mask.


End file.
